


Brontë Country

by chewsdaychillin



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (secondary school theyre in year 11), Alternate Universe - High School, First Kiss, First Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Martim Week 2021 (The Magnus Archives), Martim week: first time, School trips, im not gonna say friends to lovers bc they are 16 but friends to boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29286885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewsdaychillin/pseuds/chewsdaychillin
Summary: Tim has never had a boyfriend before, has never had the conversation he thinks he’ll need to have to get one. But he figures a morning walk through the murky mist of the moors is the perfect time to have it.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 26
Kudos: 48
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	Brontë Country

**Author's Note:**

> ahh my first fic for martim week ! very exciting <333 this was for the first time prompt 
> 
> note: theyre in year 11 which means theyre 16. there is kissing there is nothing heavy no tongues or anything. martins mum is only mentioned but him trauma is there :(

Tim has never had a boyfriend before, has never had the conversation he thinks he’ll need to have to get one. But he figures a morning walk through the murky mist of the moors is the perfect time to have it. 

Okay, he knows how that sounds, and Danny had raised an eyebrow when Tim had broached the idea in a suitably muffled pillow fort. _Romantic, much?_

But it makes sense to Tim. Martin works so much at the moment and the three or four hours Tim hangs out with him between school finishing and his shift starting are great, fantastic, every day, whatever his parents have to say about them eating into revision time. But they’re only a few hours, and sometimes it’s a bit rushed, or they’re talking about school or work, or they’ve got to be quiet because Martin’s mum is sleeping or Danny’s piano teacher is round. 

It’s time Tim appreciates no end, and he doesn’t want to say it’s _not_ quality, but it’s... well it’s not always _quality time._ And he thinks to have the kind of conversation he wants to have, they might need time? 

He’s not entirely sure. After all, he’s never had a boyfriend. In part, he supposes, because he’s never asked. There’s been a couple of drunk kisses at hockey after parties that led nowhere, and it took him embarrassingly long to realise this was because _he_ was the only guy on the team who even thought about wanting that. Maybe it’s lucky he never asked. 

But now he’s _pretty_ sure that maybe if he did... Danny says he’s no expert in boys but that if Tim was spending this much time with a girl, giggling and cuddling wrestling on the bed, he’d say it was safe to think she might want to go out too. _But boys wrestle anyway,_ Tim had pointed out. _No, you wrestle with boys on the hockey pitch._

Martin is definitely not normally the wrestling kind, that’s for sure. He likes doing his English homework in the library when it’s quiet (though not so much this term) and hates the thronging, shoving corridors. He likes watching Strictly every Saturday if he’s not working, Sunday mornings in bed if he is, and following the tabloid headlines to see if any of them get together. Tim knows full well what gets whispered by the guys who pay him any attention behind his back. They’ve talked about it, vaguely, in shrugs, and tend to just ignore them. The lads Tim wants to smack, that is, not the whispers. 

Tim is an expert in blanket forts, and in the space between the duvet over their heads and the mattress springing into their shoulders, they talk about the things people know and don’t know about them. Slowly, a few times, late night-early morning slowly. The last time it came up had been fun actually - Tim had managed to start a rousing game of snog marry avoid: rugby team edition, which turned to a whole lot of stifled snorts of laughter, and ended with Martin coyly sliding into the argument that ‘I don’t know if rugby lads are really my type, most of them are pricks.’ Tim’s breath had caught from more than the elbow in his ribs. ‘Anyway, the hockey boys are cuter.’

So. Quality time. A whole day out in nature, away from the crowds of hallways or the oppressive silence of the bungalow. A nice walk. Tim thinks it sounds pretty romantic. As much as he can scrub up for cheap, anyway. And he’s decided that’s what he’s going for. 

Martin had not at all been excited when his form tutor had announced the trip. Firstly, because it means asking for money from his mum. (‘Money _you_ earn, anyway, can’t you just-’, ‘it doesn’t work like that, Tim.’) Secondly because the itinerary includes a 10am hike up onto the moors to help them ‘really feel the importance of setting’ in _Wuthering Heights_ . Martin does not like hiking or _Wuthering Heights._

This would seem to be a set back in Tim’s plans. However, seeing Martin’s face wrinkle into a frown over the permission form had only made him more determined to come along. His class is doing _To Kill A Mockingbird,_ but he’s sure he can wangle his way onto the coach somehow. 

‘Why would you do that?’ Martin tuts at him, ’it’s probably going to rain all day, and you hate packed lunches.’

(That’s not entirely true. Tim doesn’t _love_ packed lunches, who does, but he acts like he can’t stand whatever his mum makes so he can share his without Martin feeling like he’s selfish for asking. It works out. When there’s money Martin shares his school dinners and on Friday’s sometimes they get chips.)

‘It’ll be fun,’ Tim insists, ‘anyway it’ll be like practice for DofE.’ 

‘I don’t think it’s gonna be _that_ intense. Bloody hope not-’

‘And I like the Brontës too, you know. It’ll be interesting. Look good on the old personal statement.’ 

He regrets that as soon as he’s said it - sometimes Martin gets a bit quiet when he talks about university. Not today though, instead he looks amused and skeptical. 

‘Sure... well, if you want to come.’ 

‘I do.’

‘I guess that would be nice.’ 

Tim clutches a hand to his chest. ‘You _guess_? I’m wounded.’ 

Finally Martin puts the form down and laughs. ‘ _Fine._ It’ll be nice.’ 

Still, as they hop off the coach with a crunch of gravel in the National Trust car park, he doesn’t look so sure. 

It’s drizzling already, and they can barely see their teachers calling over the crowd of heads through the mist, let alone appreciate the scenery. Tim knows the rain isn’t really something Martin’s that bothered by, but he doesn’t like the bustle a mosh pit of dickish, overexcited year elevens make when they get the chance to leave campus. He looks adorably put out in his duffle coat and non-uniform trainers. 

Tim slings an arm around his shoulder as they follow the sound of their tutor’s voice. 

‘Damn,’ he says cheerily over the creaking of his anorak, ‘I see what Emily was on about now, this _is_ pretty spooky.’ 

‘Ugh,’ is all Martin offers that, but he sounds like he’s having fun slagging off the book and the trip in one, so Tim smiles and squishes their damp cheeks together briefly before they reach registration. 

It does not take long for them to fall behind the group. Tim is never sure exactly how much this is intentional when they’re together. He knows that sometimes Martin freaks out a bit being left behind. He gets short with Tim but his breath gets even shorter, and it only took the one time Tim turned round to realise he’d sped ahead too far to notice the tears for him to learn that whatever the reason it’s a bad idea. Now Tim always walks slowly, or he’ll stop and notice something so he can jog for a second to catch up, but he always catches up. 

When he’s not there, he knows Martin hangs back on purpose, or at least doesn’t bother pretending he either can or wants to keep up with the rest of the class when they’re legging it out of the gates. Maybe it’s a quit while he’s behind sort of thing - if you’re going to be at the back let it be because you stayed behind and not that you were left behind. Tim used to look up hopefully from his spot outside the front gate at the end of the day when he’d recognise Martin’s class streaming out, but now he knows to wait for the noise to die down, tapping away with his foot until there’s a tapping on his arm. _Hey. Thanks for waiting._

Just the two of them and then the rest of the class? Yeah, it could be any number of the usual reasons. Plus the path gets pretty steep in places which slows them down. But Tim is more than happy with it. He can’t be doing with half those lads to be honest, and some of the girls act sweeter but their judgement is venomous. Even _he_ feels it, and if he’s flattering himself, he’s vaguely cool. He doesn’t like the way they seem to think he’s too good for his little two man clique. Whatever. 

Just the two of them is cool. More romantic anyway, he thinks. There’s a lot of hanging onto arms and sleeves, and hands on backs and shoulders as they clamber over rocks and try not to slip on the slick grass. Every touch makes his hands wet, and his fingers are pink with being out in the rain. It makes him shiver. Martin nearly slips and his rushed grab for Tim’s arm makes his raincoat crinkle and squeak. 

‘Woah!’ Tim says, too loud and laughing maybe a bit too nervously. Then he says ‘careful,’ so it sounds like less of a reaction to the touch. 

They trudge on, glancing half heartedly at the very wet and rubbish leaflet they’ve been given. The book comes up again and Tim delights in goading Martin into one of his rants. 

‘They’re just all horrible people! It’s no fun reading about people when you don’t like _any_ of them!’ 

‘Aren’t they meant to be flawed?’

‘Well yeah, but they’re more than that. They’re awful! How can that be a romance?’

Tim plays devils advocate. ‘It’s passionate.’ 

‘You can’t say you love someone and then treat them like shit.’ 

Tim chuckles, but is privately very glad to hear him say it. They tend not to talk about his mum too much, because there’s nothing to be done except avoid, ignore, and comfort. But considering how often this cycle repeats, with fresh tears and exhausted texts and renewed commitment to the sanctity of silence, Martin is very resigned to the furiously shaky and yet unshakable belief that _‘she loves me, of course she does’._ Tim is not a fan of her, to put it lightly, but his own mum had gently said it might be more complicated than he thinks. 

Still, Tim smiles to hear that apparently, when it comes to Heathcliff and Cathy, it is that simple. 

‘And,’ Martin is going on, ‘I mean, it paints a pretty bleak picture of the North, don't you think?’ 

He’s always very perceptive about things like that, how people and places are described and what the author seems to want to say about them. Usually people he thinks they’re being too hard on. Tim admires him for it a lot of the time, but now he just laughs. Apparently _he_ ’ _s_ only allowed to weigh in on Northern matters when it suits Martin’s argument - normally his treacherous Somerset birth betrays him. 

‘You're the one who didn't want to come here,’ he points out. 

Martin frowns. (It almost makes Tim smile too wide. He’s _so_ bloody cute when he frowns like that and Tim would wish he wouldn’t if he wasn’t so determined to make today the day he does something about it.) 

‘Doesn't mean it’s.. hm. Plus I can't stand ambiguous endings.’

Tim forgoes teasing him about the scenery for a second. ‘You already read the end?’

‘Obviously,’ Martin says. ‘It was set three weeks ago.’

‘Obviously,’ Tim grins. 

Being at the back of the group eventually gives up its good karma and becomes a bad idea. The mist rolls lower and soon they can’t see either the group or the path anymore. Wondering this and that without glancing at the path has meant Tim's sense of direction is shot, and they’re mostly treading on grass rather than mud or rocky path. 

They’re both starting to get a bit anxious, though Tim is insisting it’ll be fine because he doesn’t want to be a downer (it’s all a bit tits up if he’s being privately honest) and Martin is aggressively trying to think of solutions. But then the rain starts to come down in earnest and they give up worrying. Seems little point prolonging their suffering by running around in it shouting. 

Instead they both spot the same tree and run instinctively towards its gnarled trunk at the same time. The branches are too sparse to provide any real protection, the ground trailing with treacherous, slippy roots. They end up huddled close, almost pressed together with laughing exhilaration. Martin’s fringe is plastered to his forehead now, and there are heavy drops running down his mist-pink cheeks.

Their sheltering gradually turns from desperate and close, breathing hard from the run, to close and easy. Stood side by side and accepting that they’re just going to get rained on. Tim had thought earlier he could hear the rush of a waterfall over the deluge and remembers seeing one marked on their crappy not-to-scale maps before the rain ruined them. Now he’s not thinking about being lost or the waterfall at all. 

He keeps looking out into the mist to avoid staring at the only interesting thing, finding nothing, looking at Martin until he’s caught, looking back out into the mist. He’s just debating the romantic potential of rain for his big confession, popping the question (would it be like a dramatic period drama? Would they kiss like in _The Notebook_? Or would it just be lame and wet?) when Martin says something quietly and Tim turns to see his face pretty close again. 

There is rain clinging to his eyelashes.

‘Huh?’ Tim asks.

‘I said ‘thanks for coming’.’

‘No worries,’ Tim says, perhaps too blasé. ‘It’s been fun.’

That’s true, but their situation doesn’t exactly sound it, lost and huddling under a tree, sheltering from freezing rain. 

‘I know you came to keep me company,’ Martin is going on, speaking into the wind and looking guilty. ‘You didn’t have to.’ 

‘You don’t have to come to my games,’ Tim says quietly. 

Martin looks around awkwardly with his lip between his teeth. ‘Yeah, well. Someone’s got to carry the plasters. That astroturf’s lethal.’

(Tim had only ever needed one once. On his knee, from sliding for a tackle that had been both necessary and very epic. That was what he’d insisted anyway, as they’d called a time out after the next goal and Martin had waved him over, tutting and fussing in his bag. They didn’t have benches so he’d knelt and pulled Tim’s shoe onto his thigh wordlessly, ignoring the plastic cleats. Then he’d cleaned the little beads of blood with a tissue and stuck the plaster down carefully, while Tim stood somewhat awkwardly and tried not to watch him. His tongue had been poking out in concentration. Before he stood back up he’d fixed Tim’s shinpad and pulled his sock up over the plaster. 

Tim hadn’t thought too much of it. Or rather, he’d thought a _lot_ about it. More than he was recognising was friendly. There was something... paired about always looking over to his best friend on the sidelines, especially when the rest of his friends were with him on the field and rubbing his hair with jokes about it. He was sure the adrenaline couldn’t all be down to the game. 

But he had resisted driving himself mad over trying to guess if Martin had thought anything of it. If he was lying awake staring at the ceiling for answers too. Now Tim thinks maybe. Maybe a bit more than maybe.)

He opens his mouth and shuts it a few times before talking. ‘Listen, Martin...’ It’s a bit too loud and he doesn’t say _listen_ often. 

Martin turns to look at him quickly and Tim hopes he isn’t worried. Hopes maybe he was looking for an excuse. ‘Hm?’

‘Do you, um. Uh, I don’t know, do you maybe..?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Do you...’ Tim takes a big breath and asks it very quickly. ‘Do you wanna be my boyfriend?’

There’s a pause and he panics.

‘Or I mean. Can I be your boyfriend? Both. Not, like-’

Martin just says ‘Oh.’ He looks very still and Tim can’t read his eyes for once. They might be moving towards smiling but he doesn’t want to be presumptuous. 

‘No..?’ He tries.

‘No,’ Martin says, then fervently shakes his head. ‘No! I mean, not no. I mean.’ He laughs. ‘That’s just not what I thought you were gonna say.’

His laugh is always a relieving sound to Tim but this time he gawps before he starts to tentatively join in. ‘What did you think I was gonna say?’

‘Well I thought...’ Martin shrugs, shoves his hands defensively in his pocket. ‘I mean don’t people normally go out first? I thought you’d... I don’t know. Ask me to go to the cinema or something.’ 

‘Oh, sorry,’ Tim says instinctively. He can’t hold back a smile. Maybe he should have gone with that. It sounds like a very smooth way to do it, to be honest. _Wanna see a movie sometime?_ But he doesn’t feel very sorry because it sounds like Martin was _expecting_ him to _ask him out_ and that makes him a bit giddy.

‘No it’s not bad!’ Martin promises anyway. He swings his coat side to side, looking at the mist, at the knobbly tree roots, biting on a smile. ‘I would... like that.’

‘Yeah?’ Tim beams. Inside his sleeves his hands clench excitedly. 

‘Yeah,’ Martin nods, letting his own smile break wide across his face, ‘of course. Sorry I didn’t mean to, like... I’m just a bit surprised, and, you know. I've never done any of this so.’ He shrugs again and holds his cuffs down over his hands. 

Tim leans on the tree to get a little nearer to him, dropping his weight onto one foot so they’re closer in height. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend before either,’ he says gently.

‘You've had girlfriends though.’

 _‘One_ girlfriend,’ Tim corrects with a snort, ‘and we were twelve, Martin. We weren't exactly getting up to much except watching _Art Attack_.’

‘Oh?’ Martin raises an eyebrow. He bobs his head a bit like his sass is back as he asks quietly - ‘what is it you want to get up to, then?’

Tim scoffs into the rain. Then exhales and looks back down at Martin, still looking up at him with something shy and still daring on his face. Tim can’t be imagining the way his chin’s tilted up a bit with the jut of _go on then._ If it was wholly shy he’d be chewing his lip. But he’s not. It’s right there. _Go on,_ Tim tells himself, trying to think of it like an open goal rather than possibly the biggest moment of his entire life so far. _Do it. Just do it. Kiss him._

Tim does it. Presses forward and kisses him. It’s so light. A quick peck against cold wet lips and he’s leaning back as fast as he leaned in. 

Martin blinks at him. His mouth is pink like his whole face is, and it’s open a bit now. It definitely wasn’t before or Tim would have felt it. 

‘Oh. Sorry should I have asked first?’

He shakes his head. ‘It's okay.’

He swings his arms a bit, smiling with his mouth pursed closed. Then he breathes an awkward laugh, and another into his hand curled around his sleeve like he can’t believe it. 

‘What?’ Tim asks him. He thinks he might know. ‘ _What_?’ He demands as he starts to laugh a bit too. 

Martin shakes his head again and water flecks off his hair as he steps up onto a root by Tim’s feet and kisses him back. 

They’re a bit better at it this time, maybe. It goes on a bit longer, a bit firmer but not so much like a jab. They tilt their heads this time and Tim actually breathes. Then they break and swap sides and go again. 

It’s amazing, _amazing_ and his heart is leaping and thrumming in his ears to be kissing his best friend. But it’s a bit awkward, should they be this quiet? Should his mouth be open more? 

Tim wishes he was as smooth as he puts on in practice, playing casanova for the lads. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. Martin’s fingers curl into his jumper cuff and tug on it slightly, bringing him just a little closer. Okay, smooth. Maybe he could do something like that? He bites the bullet and slips his fingers out of his dripping sleeve and into Martin’s cold hand. Immediately it closes around his own and squeezes, squashing the water between their palms.

The next time they break apart it’s because they’re both looking down at their joined hands. 

‘So that's a yes, then?’ Tim asks. ‘Or?’ 

Martin swings their hands between them. His smile is like a bright bright star. It must be, like, a million watts. 

‘Yes.’ 

The museum was nice. Or maybe it was boring. Tim remembers absolutely nothing about it and can’t find it in himself to be disappointed. He just remembers that somehow they found the others and the rain stopped and the little waterfall did feel romantic. He remembers sharing lunches. Watching Martin read the little information cards and touching his hand every so often as they strolled round at the back of the group in the Brontë house. The shy little smiles they kept trading. Seeing his own dizzy happiness reflected back at him every time. He couldn’t even tell you when each book was published and he knows their boring guide talked about that because Martin had said something snarky like _they’d all know if they read the inside cover._

Everyone’s tired out or bored sleepy by the time they get back to the coach. It’s quiet enough, just low conversation and the rustle of snacks, that Tim can rest his head comfortably on Martin’s shoulder and nod off quite easily. He hadn’t meant to, only meant to lean into his neck to mean _I like you so much I don’t know what to do about it,_ but apparently closing his eyes breathing in the smell of his jumper drying had sent Tim straight off.

They are last off the bus. Tim jumps down first so he can offer his hand up like in old books like _Wuthering Heights._ There is no one to look around for and Martin takes it, smiling as he jumps down. Tim’s heart is gleaming in his chest. He has a boyfriend. 

‘We could go to the cinema?’ He suggests as they set off walking the familiar route home. They’re holding hands now and it’s only five-thirty. ‘I can see what’s on.’

‘Tim, you’ve just slept the whole way home. Aren't you tired?’

‘I could wake up.’

‘Or,’ Martin smiles fondly, ‘we could go on Friday? I got a day off, finally. Quality time, you know.’ 

Tim nods rapidly and kisses him with all his excitement. Martin squeezes his hand, then tugs it. He pulls them both into the little alley between his house and the one next door. It’s a bit claustrophobic with the arch over it, and normally Tim would ask him if he minds. Clearly he doesn’t though - in the private of all the red brick he tiptoes up to kiss Tim against the wall. This time his hand comes up on Tim's shoulder, then slides gingerly onto his neck. Tim sighs and rests his own hand on Martin’s side, maybe on his waist but it’s hard to tell with the big coat on. He moves it down a bit and it feels natural there, so he presses in a bit against Martin's coat. Oh, yeah. That’s his waist. 

He inhales quite sharply, shakily at that, and Martin kisses him more for it, kisses his open mouth this time. Tim thinks it might be a bit forward to try and do tongues this early in the game but he’s already loving how it feels a bit heavier. He can feel the slight push of Martin's teeth, taste behind the chapped outside of his lips. 

It slows back down as soon as it started, a long pull as Martin lowers his heels back onto the concrete. He looks very red in the face and his eyes are heavy. Tim feels the same, for sure. 

‘I should probably head in,’ he says, sliding his hand back down Tim's arm and not sounding very happy about it. Then before Tim can nod he says ‘you’re my best friend, you know that?’

Tim feels like he might melt but he just smiles. His lips are still humming. ‘I’m gonna be your best boyfriend.’

Martin snorts as he breaks out giggling.

‘I’m serious!’ Tim tells him. ‘Just watch me!’ 

Martin takes his hand again and squeezes it. Tim’s starting to think he might make a habit of that. ‘I believe you. Can’t wait,’ he says, then he kisses Tim's cheek and hurries out of the alley. 

Tim rubs the spot where it landed and follows him in half a daze. He smiles and waves back when Martin raises a hand on the threshold. 

‘See you tomorrow.’

‘Yeah. See you tomorrow.’

As soon as the front door is closed he takes off running, unable to resist whooping and skipping and jumping as he goes for home, brimming over with excitement and eager to tell Danny all about it in their next blanket fort. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading ! hope u enjoyed leave a comment perhaps uwu <3


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